


Hear the Nightingale, and Long For Me

by the_literary_axolotl



Category: Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Character, Canon Compliant, Costumes, F/F, Femslash, Grief/Mourning, Lesbian Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26838142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_literary_axolotl/pseuds/the_literary_axolotl
Summary: Elphaba remembers the day she put together the Wicked Witch.
Relationships: Elphaba Thropp/Galinda Upland, Glinda the Good/Wicked Witch of the West
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Hear the Nightingale, and Long For Me

“But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home to a leaky castle across the sea to lie awake in linen smelling of lavender, and hear the nightingale, and long for me.”  


― “Short Story,” Edna St. Vincent Millay

Elphaba was ready to throw her haphazard handiwork straight into the fireplace. She gritted her teeth, but, mustering up the little patience left in her, forced her freezing hands to continue.

She was surrounded by a pile of dark lace and ribbons. Little ornaments that, a month ago, she had resolved to keep tucked away in her bag. Now, having worn out and torn her old dress so it offered little protection from the cold - and finding no one willing to sell her a pair of trousers or a coat - here she was, sewing in a dingy attic.

Across the room lay her hat and a pink silk flower.

She dragged her project toward the window, far from both, and turned to face the tempest outside. There was no avoiding the gifts Glinda had bestowed upon her, but the pink, which she could neither bear to look at nor hide, haunted her the most.

She turned her attention back to the navy ribbon, only to stab her finger for the third time.

Perhaps she should have tossed it in the fire. Memories and all.

Instead, she scooped up the pile of black lace and hugged it to her chest like a blanket.

_“I don’t need new clothes.”_

__

__

_“You’re welcome. Look, I picked your favorite colors, and I just bought the materials so you can bring them to a seamstress. It’ll be more, well, unique to you.” Glinda twirled a golden lock around her finger. “Besides, I know you don’t need them, Elphie. But perhaps you deserve something nice every once in a while? A - a gift?”_

She set the pile down, reaching for her patched-up dress once again, then the cape - yet another of Glinda’s gifts. It was time to put it back together, sew the remaining pieces to the back of the dress. Would it keep her warm? Well, not quite, but it was witch-like, and it would frighten - the only fun she could have these days. 

A crow cackled outside her window. Startled, Elphaba met its mocking eyes and could not help a dry laugh in response.

There was no Glinda to giggle at her antics, at her melodrama, so Elphaba laughed at herself.

*********

The fire still crackled in the corner, a crow still perched on the windowsill, and the rain still kept her inside. Perhaps it wouldn’t physically harm her, but _something_ about it terrified her. Something about the icy downpour, the way it invaded everything within reach and blurred her vision, made her skin crawl.

Eight years ago, she had crouched in a room much like this one, putting together the pieces of the Wicked Witch.

She no longer wore that dress, nor any dress at all, really, and kept it folded away in her wooden chest. It was time to move on. Oz! Not to forget - just to stop dwelling on her regrets at night.

It would never stop.

_“Stop that.” Elphaba hesitated, then added, more softly, “please.” Glinda was weaving one of the ribbons into her hair again, a rich purple velvet this time. Upon Elphie’s protest, she set it aside._

__

__

_“No, you’re right, it doesn’t have enough drape. Now, a longer ribbon would look flowy and painterishly -”_

_“That’s not what I meant!”_

_“I know.” Glinda gave her a playful nudge. She began to fiddle with Elphaba’s hair. Without a ribbon or a flower to concentrate on, her movements grew softer, slower, and freer. Elphaba caught her reflection in the mirror. It was one of those rare moments when Glinda’s green eyes lost their focus, their attention to every color and detail of the world around her, and grew hazy._

_She resolved to return Glinda’s efforts with some kind of gift, after their meeting with the Wizard tomorrow. Maybe a book. A book on architecture, or art._

She could still feel Glinda in her arms, the day she gave her the book.

_“I’d do anything at all to keep you here.” The words were choked out and hoarse. “I could - I could convince them - you know they listen to me more than anyone - if you just let me try -”_

_The commotion outside grew. Elphaba, desperate to leave with some good memory, something she wouldn’t regret for once, awkwardly brushed her lips over Glinda’s cheek._

_Glinda was silent, but when Elphie at last found the courage to look back as she closed the door, she saw Glinda, tears streaming down her face, blow a kiss back._

It wasn’t enough. The book, the hat - they were gifts in themselves, they were remnants of Elphaba - but they weren’t enough.

Elphaba knew that was what was keeping her up at night. It was not that she owed Glinda material gifts. It was that Elphaba, in leaving, had taken away the one gift no one else had bothered to give Glinda.

Eight years was enough.

_No one can ever know. Not if we want to be safe._ The memory of Fiyero’s voice, now also long gone, haunted her. 

Elphaba was done being safe. But Glinda - well, she would protect Glinda. What did either of them have to lose, anyway?

She crept over to a worn dresser, pulling out the drawer that contained her map of Oz, her new cloak, her crooked old broom, and Glinda’s silk flower.

Perhaps she had picked up a bit of caution, even cowardice, from Glinda as well. Her hands shook. She could not bring them to hold the broom. But she picked up the flower, and it drifted to her lap, followed by one stray tear after another. She watched it rest against the gray moleskin of her trousers until her hands had steadied again.


End file.
